The Walls of Apartment 412
by Kita Samuelle
Summary: If walls could speak, what would they say? What lives would they remember back upon fondly?If walls could talk, what secrets would be unleashed to the world?What if a few walls in a small building were the only thing that was left behind for a legacy?


_If walls could speak, what would they say? What tales would they tell? What lives would they remember back upon fondly?_

_If walls could talk, what secrets would be unleashed to the world?_

_What if a few walls in a small building were the only thing that was left behind for a legacy?_

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There's someone new moving in. After being bare so long, I hope this is a good thing. To have sound again. Maybe a chance at laughter.

The last resident that lived here never laughed.

It would be nice to have a family move in, but I know better than to hope for that. This place is used for only one type of people. The furtherst from the family type as I could get.

I wonder who this new person will be like. Hopefully better than the last one. God, anything must be better than the last one. I can still smell the blood upon me, despite the efficent clean up that was sent in. I've seen it happen too many times. Is it too much to ask for a happy ending? Why can't anyone simply move away? Why must they all end in such misery?

Everything here is decorated nicely. It's all high class, in hopes of helping the new resident feel like they're not trapped here. It never works for long.

I wonder what will happen to this new resident. What's their story? Where did they come from; what did they do to come here? I can already feel their pain and anguish. Or maybe they're empty. They all become vacant of life sooner or later.

I wish I could escape. But I can't. Like those I give home to, I'm stuck here. I can't leave. I'll never leave.

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The door opens. A man holds it open. I've seen only once or twice before, but it's enough. He seems to belong here. Along with all the other empty, sad souls that still linger in the thick air.

But this home is not for him. He makes way for someone else to come in.

It's a girl. She's young. She looks shaken up, shivering and timid. She's not like anyone I've seen before. There's no fire in her eyes, or those black depths. She's not shouting or toting knives. She's just a girl. Barely out of her teens. And she's afraid. What is she doing here?"

"You live here?" she asks, looking around curiously. She looks like she's just been through a war and barely survived. Well, don't they all.

"No, you do," he enlightens. "It's yours."

"Mine?" It's a single word, but so many emotions are revealed through it. Hope, wonder, fear and happiness. Curiosity and distrust.

"I hope you like it," the man says next. He has a smile on, something I've never seen him have before. But of course she'll like it. They all like me in the beginning. I'm not the problem. He is. Where he comes from, what they do - that's the problem. I just stand here for an eternity, looking nice. Keeping the cold warm and offering a sense of shelter.

"What do you mean, mine?" She's getting angry now, thinking that he's trying to trick her. He must have done something to hurt her - she distrusts him heavily. I can feel it, he must too.

And then he whips out the suitcase and any hope of a family is now gone. That suitcase means that he's definitely from that horrid place and so is she. Well, I knew that. The installation of more cameras told me that before. I'm not surprised. Just disappointed. I had hoped this young girl could have a happier ending. I hope she lasts longer than the last person.

The man goes through the drill that I've heard multiple people say dozens of times. But she's not really listening. She's still looking for the catch. Where's the other shoe, ready to drop? Sorry sweetheart, that won't come for a little while yet. But when it does drop, it'll hit you hard. Real hard. No mistake about that. I wish I could tell her. Let her know what she's in for and to not get too comfortable. To always be on her guard and never trust anyone. But I can't. And that would be cheating anyway. She had to learn on her own. I just wish the end product wasn't so upsetting.

The man walks over to her. She smiles, for the first time. And just like that, the distrust starts to fade. What had caused her to be so hurt and angry, for her clothing to be ripped, her shoes to be lost and her heart to weep, it was all erased now. Just because he was close. Because he gently touched her.

I instantly start to realize who she is. Someone that thrives on the littlest of attention and is starved for love and touch. A harsh childhood then. Maybe she'll have a chance. I don't know, I've never had someone like her. When they arrive to me, they never have hope or sweetness left. Just relief that one day is over and dread for the next.

He breaks the silence and returns to business. Tells her a codename that they'll use. Josephine. Different from the normal, but I like it. She however, steps away, out of his jacket and back in to her own skin. The fear is back. She's two seconds away from being reduced to trembling again. I pity her. She has no business, being here. Being in this man and his company's grasp. This would prove to be the hardest person I've ever had to live with. Because this one was an innocent. I've never known an innocent before. Far from family material, but still. It would be different. Difficult. For both of us.

The man answers her questions smoothly, then leaves. When the door shuts, she smiles again, left here. With me. She looks around fondly, then runs. Bounces off the chair and up the stairs, looking out the double french doors.

I know instantly that I'm going to like her. That childlike innocence she carries. She'll be fun to have around. But I know sooner or later I'll lose her.

I hope for the best. That's all I can do.

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